In The Ones You Love

(marsha malamet/liz vidal)From your lips to gods earMay every wish and every prayer find its wayAlways be heard and every dayMay you see them answeredIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youYour hearts reflection comes shining throughBrighter than the sunStronger than you knewIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youWith each tear, with each smileMay you hold life dearLearning all the wiseWhat cant be changed, try to acceptAnd though youll make mistakesMay you find forgivenessIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youYour hearts reflections comes shining throughBrighter than the sunStronger than you knewIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youAnd in the ones you love (love)Find shelter and have faith (faith)And through whatever comes (comes)Rejoice and celebrate (celebrate)In the ones who love youYour hearts reflection comes shining throughBrighter than the sun (brighter)Stronger than you knew (stronger)In the ones you loveIn the ones who love youIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youYour hearts reflections comes shining throughBrighter than the sun (brighter)Stronger than you knew (stronger)In the ones you loveIn the ones who love youIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youYour hearts reflection comes shining throughBrighter than the sun (brighter)Stronger than you knewIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youIn the ones you loveIn the ones who love youYour hearts reflections comes shining throughBrighter than the sunBrighter than the sunsetStronger than you knew

See What Love Can Do

By jerry lynn williamsWhen your world, it starts to fall apartLook deep within, within your lonely heart.Do your best my friend, try and understandIts only you, pull yourself through.When you tell your story,Make sure your storys right;Every little single word is true.See what love can do.See what love can do.When the words are in the music, the music is the song.The world would be so happy, if wed all just get along.I want to see it, a smile on every face.So when we tell our story,Make sure that its rightAnd every single word is true.See what love can do.See what love can do.So when you tell your story, honeyMake sure that its right.I finally proved the message true.I see what love can do.See what love can do.See what love can do.See what love can do.When we sing the storyMake sure your song is right.Finally proved the message true.See what love can do.Oh, see what love can do.See what love can do.See what love can do.See what love can do.See what love can do.

Feast Of The Assumption

Dark! Dark! Dark!The sun is set; the day is dead:Thy Feast has fled;My eyes are wet with tears unshed;I bow my head;Where the star-fringed shadows softly swayI bend my knee,And, like a homesick child, I pray,Mary, to thee.

Dark! Dark! Dark!And, all the day -- since white-robed priestIn farthest East,In dawn's first ray -- began the Feast,I -- I the least --Thy least, and last, and lowest child,I called on thee!Virgin! didst hear? my words were wild;Didst think of me?

Dark! Dark! Dark!Alas! and no! The angels bright,With wings as whiteAs a dream of snow in love and light,Flashed on thy sight;They shone like stars around thee, Queen!I knelt afar --A shadow only dims the sceneWhere shines a star!

Dark! Dark! Dark!And all day long, beyond the sky,Sweet, pure, and high,The angel's song swept sounding byTriumphantly;And when such music filled thy ear,Rose round thy throne,How could I hope that thou wouldst hearMy far, faint moan?

Dark! Dark! Dark!Alas! and no! Thou didst not hearNor bend thy ear,To prayer of woe as mine so drear;For hearts more dearHid me from hearing and from sightThis bright Feast-day;Wilt hear me, Mother, if in its nightI kneel and pray?

Dark! Dark! Dark!Mary, I call! Wilt hear the prayerMy poor lips dare?Yea! be to all a Queen most fair,Crown, sceptre, bear!But look on me with a mother's eyesFrom heaven's bliss;And waft to me from the starry skiesA mother's kiss!

When hearts are near, people whisper!

Smile at me, when I return from workDon't smell at me and turn in sulkI may build the wall out of brick, I may fix the pipe as a trick, I may drive the multi ton trucks, I may plough the field in bare feet, I may walk around to sell the knick knacks, I may go into the drain to remove the clogs, I may wear the protective suit in oil rigs, I may wear the gloves to wash the dirt, When I return home, please smile at me, For I do this work for the children and you.Look at me as the flowers in your garden, Look at me as you look at our children, Look at me as a human, who is in need, Yes, I need you and your love, Don't scare me with your shouting, We are very near and our hearts are very dear, I am simply very tired and know your fear, Wipe away your suspicious tear, Smile at me dear, I can hear your whisper, Don't treat me as a stranger, When the hearts are near, people whisper, When the hearts are afar, people shout.Smile at me, when I return from work.

Tv Show

I walk around in the market, late at nightI walk around in the empty aislesAnd I dont know whyI need to be, close to the lightSo I walk around in the middle of the nightI drive around in the neighbourhoodI want to lose my houseI drive around on the freeway,I guess I want to lose myselfTurn the key, turn the dialListen to the radio and just drive for a whileYeah, I got no place to goI wish I could come homeTo a life that looks like a tv showWish I could see my television family waiting for meWhere no one fights, no one screamsNo one lies, and no one leavesI dont care how the story endsI want to feel like Im living againI drive away from the cityNeed to see the skyDrive away from the bad thingsThat made me close my eyesLeave it all, in the pastDrive away going nowhere fastYeah, I got no where to goI wish I could go homeTo a life that looks like a tv showWish I could see my television family waiting for meWhere no one fights, no one screamsNo one lies, and no one leavesI dont care how the story endsI want to feel like I use to feelI want to feel like Im living againWhoa, Im living againWhoa, Im living againWhoa, breathing out and breathing inWhoa, Im living againWalking away from the circleNeed to find myselfI think I need to start overNeed to start making senseBreathe out, breathe inI wish I could start all over againI wish I could do it all over againI wish I could come homeTo a life like the one that I use to knowI wish I could some day see everything back the way it use to beWhere no one cries, no one screamsNo one hits you, and no one leavesEverybody knows how the story endsAll the bad guys lose and the good guys winI wish I could do it all over againOoh, I want to feel some day I can really start living againWhoa, Im living againWhoa, Im living againWhoa, Im living againWhoa, Im living again

The Victories Of Love. Book II

IFrom Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heartAre not half known till they depart!Although I long'd, for many a year,To love with love that casts out fear,My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,And heaven seem'd less far off than he;And in my fancy I would traceA lady with an angel's face,That made devotion simply debt,Till sick with envy and regret,And wicked grief that God should e'erMake women, and not make them fair.That he might love me more becauseAnother in his memory was,And that my indigence might beTo him what Baby's was to me,The chief of charms, who could have thought?But God's wise way is to give noughtTill we with asking it are tired;And when, indeed, the change desiredComes, lest we give ourselves the praise,It comes by Providence, not Grace;And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rsAre groans at unexpected cares. First Baby went to heaven, you know,And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.Then he became more talkative,And, stooping to my heart, would giveSigns of his love, which pleased me moreThan all the proofs he gave before;And, in that time of our great grief,We talk'd religion for relief;For, though we very seldom nameReligion, we now think the same!Oh, what a bar is thus removedTo loving and to being loved!For no agreement really isIn anything when none's in this.Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'dHis wife against his hearty breast,The interior difference seem'd to tearMy own, until I could not bearThe trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.He never felt this. If he did,I'm sure it could not have been hid;For wives, I need not say to you,Can feel just what their husbands do,Without a word or look; but thenIt is not so, you know, with men.

From that time many a Scripture textHelp'd me, which had, before, perplex'd.Oh, what a wond'rous word seem'd this:He is my head, as Christ is his!None ever could have dared to seeIn marriage such a dignityFor man, and for his wife, still less,Such happy, happy lowliness,Had God Himself not made it plain!This revelation lays the rein—

If I may speak so—on the neckOf a wife's love, takes thence the checkOf conscience, and forbids to doubtIts measure is to be withoutAll measure, and a fond excessIs here her rule of godliness.

I took him not for love but fright;He did but ask a dreadful right.In this was love, that he loved meThe first, who was mere poverty.All that I know of love he taught;And love is all I know of aught.My merit is so small by his,That my demerit is my bliss.My life is hid with him in Christ,Never thencefrom to be enticed;And in his strength have I such restAs when the baby on my breastFinds what it knows not how to seek,And, very happy, very weak,Lies, only knowing all is well,Pillow'd on kindness palpable.

II From Lady Clitheroe To Mary Churchill

Dear Saint, I'm still at High-Hurst Park.The house is fill'd with folks of mark.Honoria suits a good estateMuch better than I hoped. How fateLoads her with happiness and pride!And such a loving lord, beside! But between us, Sweet, everythingHas limits, and to build a wingTo this old house, when Courtholm standsEmpty upon his Berkshire lands,And all that Honor might be nearPapa, was buying love too dear.

With twenty others, there are twoGuests here, whose names will startle you:Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Graham!I thought he stay'd away for shame.He and his wife were ask'd, you know,And would not come, four years ago.You recollect Miss Smythe found outWho she had been, and all aboutHer people at the Powder-mill;And how the fine Aunt tried to instilHaut ton, and how, at last poor JaneHad got so shy and gauche that, whenThe Dockyard gentry came to sup,She always had to be lock'd up;And some one wrote to us and saidHer mother was a kitchen-maid.Dear Mary, you'll be charm'd to knowIt must be all a fib. But, oh,She is the oddest little PetOn which my eyes were ever set!She's so outrée and naturalThat, when she first arrived, we allWonder'd, as when a robin comesIn through the window to eat crumbsAt breakfast with us. She has sense,Humility, and confidence;And, save in dressing just a thoughtGayer in colours than she ought,(To-day she looks a cross betweenGipsy and Fairy, red and green,) She always happens to do well.And yet one never quite can tellWhat she might do or utter next.Lord Clitheroe is much perplex'd.Her husband, every now and then,Looks nervous; all the other menAre charm'd. Yet she has neither grace,Nor one good feature in her face.Her eyes, indeed, flame in her head,Like very altar-fires to Fred,Whose steps she follows everywhereLike a tame duck, to the despairOf Colonel Holmes, who does his partTo break her funny little heart.Honor's enchanted. 'Tis her viewThat people, if they're good and true,And treated well, and let alone,Will kindly take to what's their own,And always be original,Like children. Honor's just like allThe rest of us! But, thinking so,'Tis well she miss'd Lord Clitheroe,Who hates originality,Though he puts up with it in me.

Poor Mrs. Graham has never beenTo the Opera! You should have seenThe innocent way she told the EarlShe thought Plays sinful when a girl,And now she never had a chance!Frederick's complacent smile and glanceTowards her, show'd me, past a doubt,Honoria had been quite cut out.'Tis very strange; for Mrs. Graham,Though Frederick's fancy none can blame,Seems the last woman you'd have thoughtHer lover would have ever sought. She never reads, I find, nor goesAnywhere; so that I supposeShe got at all she ever knewBy growing up, as kittens do.

Talking of kittens, by-the-bye,You have more influence than IWith dear Honoria. Get her, Dear,To be a little more severeWith those sweet Children. They've the runOf all the place. When school was done,Maud burst in, while the Earl was there,With ‘Oh, Mama, do be a bear!’

Do you know, Dear, this odd wife of FredAdores his old Love in his stead!She is so nice, yet, I should say,Not quite the thing for every day.Wonders are wearying! Felix goesNext Sunday with her to the Close,And you will judge.

Honoria asksAll Wiltshire Belles here; Felix basksLike Puss in fire-shine, when the roomIs thus aflame with female bloom.But then she smiles when most would pout;And so his lawless loves go outWith the last brocade. 'Tis not the same,I fear, with Mrs. Frederick Graham.Honoria should not have her here,—And this you might just hint, my Dear,—For Felix says he never sawSuch proof of what he holds for law,That ‘beauty is love which can be seen.’Whatever he by this may mean,Were it not dreadful if he fellIn love with her on principle!

III From Jane To Mrs. Graham

Mother, I told you how, at first,I fear'd this visit to the Hurst.Fred must, I felt, be so distress'dBy aught in me unlike the restWho come here. But I find the placeDelightful; there's such ease, and grace,And kindness, and all seem to beOn such a high equality.They have not got to think, you know,How far to make the money go.But Frederick says it's less the expenseOf money, than of sound good-sense,Quickness to care what others feel,And thoughts with nothing to conceal;Which I'll teach Johnny. Mrs. VaughanWas waiting for us on the Lawn,And kiss'd and call'd me ‘Cousin.’ FredNeglected his old friends, she said.He laugh'd, and colour'd up at this.She was, you know, a flame of his;But I'm not jealous! Luncheon done,I left him, who had just begunTo talk about the Russian WarWith an old Lady, Lady Carr,—A Countess, but I'm more afraid,A great deal, of the Lady's Maid,—And went with Mrs. Vaughan to seeThe pictures, which appear'd to beOf sorts of horses, clowns, and cowsCall'd Wouvermans and Cuyps and Dows.And then she took me up, to showHer bedroom, where, long years ago,A Queen slept. 'Tis all tapestriesOf Cupids, Gods, and Goddesses,And black, carved oak. A curtain'd doorLeads thence into her soft Boudoir,Where even her husband may but comeBy favour. He, too, has his room,Kept sacred to his solitude.Did I not think the plan was good?She ask'd me; but I said how smallOur house was, and that, after all,Though Frederick would not say his prayersAt night till I was safe upstairs,I thought it wrong to be so shyOf being good when I was by.‘Oh, you should humour him!’ she said,With her sweet voice and smile; and ledThe way to where the children ateTheir dinner, and Miss Williams sate.She's only Nursery-Governess,Yet they consider her no lessThan Lord or Lady Carr, or me.Just think how happy she must be!The Ball-Room, with its painted skyWhere heavy angels seem to fly,Is a dull place; its size and gloomMake them prefer, for drawing-room,The Library, all done up newAnd comfortable, with a viewOf Salisbury Spire between the boughs.

When she had shown me through the house,(I wish I could have let her knowThat she herself was half the show; She is so handsome, and so kind!)She fetch'd the children, who had dined;And, taking one in either hand,Show'd me how all the grounds were plann'd.The lovely garden gently slopesTo where a curious bridge of ropesCrosses the Avon to the Park.We rested by the stream, to markThe brown backs of the hovering trout.Frank tickled one, and took it outFrom under a stone. We saw his owls,And awkward Cochin-China fowls,And shaggy pony in the croft;And then he dragg'd us to a loft,Where pigeons, as he push'd the door,Fann'd clear a breadth of dusty floor,And set us coughing. I confessI trembled for my nice silk dress.I cannot think how Mrs. VaughanVentured with that which she had on,—A mere white wrapper, with a fewPlain trimmings of a quiet blue,But, oh, so pretty! Then the bellFor dinner rang. I look'd quite well(‘Quite charming,’ were the words Fred said,)With the new gown that I've had made.

I am so proud of Frederick.He's so high-bred and lordly-likeWith Mrs. Vaughan! He's not quite soAt home with me; but that, you know,I can't expect, or wish. 'Twould hurt,And seem to mock at my desert.Not but that I'm a duteous wifeTo Fred; but, in another life,Where all are fair that have been trueI hope I shall be graceful too, Like Mrs. Vaughan. And, now, good-bye!That happy thought has made me cry,And feel half sorry that my cough,In this fine air, is leaving off.

IV From Frederick To Mrs. Graham

Honoria, trebly fair and mildWith added loves of lord and child,Is else unalter'd. Years, which wrongThe rest, touch not her beauty, youngWith youth which rather seems her clime,Than aught that's relative to time.How beyond hope was heard the prayerI offer'd in my love's despair!Could any, whilst there's any woe,Be wholly blest, then she were so.She is, and is aware of it,Her husband's endless benefit;But, though their daily ways revealThe depth of private joy they feel,'Tis not their bearing each to eachThat does abroad their secret preach,But such a lovely good-intentTo all within their governmentAnd friendship as, 'tis well discern'd,Each of the other must have learn'd;For no mere dues of neighbourhoodEver begot so blest a mood.

And fair, indeed, should be the fewGod dowers with nothing else to do,And liberal of their light, and freeTo show themselves, that all may see!For alms let poor men poorly giveThe meat whereby men's bodies live;But they of wealth are stewards wiseWhose graces are their charities.

The sunny charm about this homeMakes all to shine who thither come.My own dear Jane has caught its grace,And, honour'd, honours too the place.Across the lawn I lately walk'dAlone, and watch'd where mov'd and talk'd,Gentle and goddess-like of air,Honoria and some Stranger fair.I chose a path unblest by these;When one of the two Goddesses,With my Wife's voice, but softer, said,‘Will you not walk with us, dear Fred?’

She moves, indeed, the modest peerOf all the proudest ladies here.Unawed she talks with men who standAmong the leaders of the land,And women beautiful and wise,With England's greatness in their eyes.To high, traditional good-sense,And knowledge ripe without pretence,And human truth exactly hitBy quiet and conclusive wit,Listens my little, homely Dove,Mistakes the points and laughs for love;And, after, stands and combs her hair,And calls me much the wittiest there!

With reckless loyalty, dear Wife,She lays herself about my life! The joy I might have had of yoreI have not; for 'tis now no more,With me, the lyric time of youth,And sweet sensation of the truth.Yet, past my hope or purpose bless'd,In my chance choice let be confess'dThe tenderer Providence that rulesThe fates of children and of fools!

I kiss'd the kind, warm neck that slept,And from her side this morning stepp'd,To bathe my brain from drowsy nightIn the sharp air and golden light.The dew, like frost, was on the pane.The year begins, though fair, to wane.There is a fragrance in its breathWhich is not of the flowers, but death;And green above the ground appearThe lilies of another year.I wander'd forth, and took my pathAmong the bloomless aftermath;And heard the steadfast robin singAs if his own warm heart were Spring,And watch'd him feed where, on the yew,Hung honey'd drops of crimson dew;And then return'd, by walls of peach,And pear-trees bending to my reach,And rose-beds with the roses gone,To bright-laid breakfast. Mrs. VaughanWas there, none with her. I confessI love her than of yore no less!But she alone was loved of old;Now love is twain, nay, manifold;For, somehow, he whose daily lifeAdjusts itself to one true wife,Grows to a nuptial, near degreeWith all that's fair and womanly. Therefore, as more than friends, we met,Without constraint, without regret;The wedded yoke that each had donn'dSeeming a sanction, not a bond.

V From Mrs. Graham

Your love lacks joy, your letter says.Yes; love requires the focal spaceOf recollection or of hope,Ere it can measure its own scope.Too soon, too soon comes Death to showWe love more deeply than we know!The rain, that fell upon the heightToo gently to be call'd delight,Within the dark vale reappearsAs a wild cataract of tears;And love in life should strive to seeSometimes what love in death would be!Easier to love, we so should find,It is than to be just and kind.

She's gone: shut close the coffin-lid:What distance for another didThat death has done for her! The good,Once gazed upon with heedless mood,Now fills with tears the famish'd eye,And turns all else to vanity.'Tis sad to see, with death between,The good we have pass'd and have not seen!How strange appear the words of all!The looks of those that live appal. They are the ghosts, and check the breath:There's no reality but death,And hunger for some signal givenThat we shall have our own in heaven.But this the God of love lets beA horrible uncertainty.

How great her smallest virtue seems,How small her greatest fault! Ill dreamsWere those that foil'd with loftier graceThe homely kindness of her face.'Twas here she sat and work'd, and thereShe comb'd and kiss'd the children's hair;Or, with one baby at her breast,Another taught, or hush'd to rest.Praise does the heart no more refuseTo the chief loveliness of use.Her humblest good is hence most highIn the heavens of fond memory;And Love says Amen to the word,A prudent wife is from the Lord.Her worst gown's kept, ('tis now the best,As that in which she oftenest dress'd,)For memory's sake more precious grownThan she herself was for her own.Poor child! foolish it seem'd to flyTo sobs instead of dignity,When she was hurt. Now, more than all,Heart-rending and angelicalThat ignorance of what to do,Bewilder'd still by wrong from you:For what man ever yet had graceNe'er to abuse his power and place?

No magic of her voice or smileSuddenly raised a fairy isle,But fondness for her underwentAn unregarded increment, Like that which lifts, through centuries,The coral-reef within the seas,Till, lo! the land where was the wave,Alas! 'tis everywhere her grave.

VI From Jane To Mrs. Graham

Dear Mother, I can surely tell,Now, that I never shall get well.Besides the warning in my mind,All suddenly are grown so kind.Fred stopp'd the Doctor, yesterday,Downstairs, and, when he went away,Came smiling back, and sat with me,Pale, and conversing cheerfullyAbout the Spring, and how my cough,In finer weather, would leave off.I saw it all, and told him plainI felt no hope of Spring again.Then he, after a word of jest,Burst into tears upon my breast,And own'd, when he could speak, he knewThere was a little danger, too.This made me very weak and ill,And while, last night, I lay quite still,And, as he fancied, in the deep,Exhausted rest of my short sleep,I heard, or dream'd I heard him pray:‘Oh, Father, take her not away!‘Let not life's dear assurance lapse‘Into death's agonised 'Perhaps,'

‘A hope without Thy promise, where‘Less than assurance is despair!‘Give me some sign, if go she must,‘That death's not worse than dust to dust,‘Not heaven, on whose oblivious shore‘Joy I may have, but her no more!‘The bitterest cross, it seems to me,‘Of all is infidelity;‘And so, if I may choose, I'll miss‘The kind of heaven which comes to this.‘If doom'd, indeed, this fever ceased,‘To die out wholly, like a beast,‘Forgetting all life's ill success‘In dark and peaceful nothingness,‘I could but say, Thy will be done;‘For, dying thus, I were but one‘Of seed innumerable which ne'er‘In all the worlds shall bloom or bear.‘I've put life past to so poor use‘Well may'st Thou life to come refuse;‘And justice, which the spirit contents,‘Shall still in me all vain laments;‘Nay, pleased, I will, while yet I live,‘Think Thou my forfeit joy may'st give‘To some fresh life, else unelect,‘And heaven not feel my poor defect!‘Only let not Thy method be‘To make that life, and call it me;‘Still less to sever mine in twain,‘And tell each half to live again,‘And count itself the whole! To die,‘Is it love's disintegrity?‘Answer me, 'No,' and I, with grace,‘Will life's brief desolation face,‘My ways, as native to the clime,‘Adjusting to the wintry time, ‘Ev'n with a patient cheer thereof—’

He started up, hearing me cough.Oh, Mother, now my last doubt's gone!He likes me more than Mrs. Vaughan;And death, which takes me from his side,Shows me, in very deed, his bride!

VII From Jane To Frederick

I leave this, Dear, for you to read,For strength and hope, when I am dead.When Grace died, I was so perplex'd,I could not find one helpful text;And when, a little while before,I saw her sobbing on the floor,Because I told her that in heavenShe would be as the angels even,And would not want her doll, 'tis trueA horrible fear within me grew,That, since the preciousness of loveWent thus for nothing, mine might proveTo be no more, and heaven's blissSome dreadful good which is not this.

But being about to die makes clearMany dark things. I have no fear,Now, that my love, my grief, my joyIs but a passion for a toy.I cannot speak at all, I find,The shining something in my mind,That shows so much that, if I tookMy thoughts all down, 'twould make a book. God's Word, which lately seem'd aboveThe simpleness of human love,To my death-sharpen'd hearing tellsOf little or of nothing else;And many things I hoped were true,When first they came, like songs, from you,Now rise with witness past the reachOf doubt, and I to you can teach,As if with felt authorityAnd as things seen, what you taught me.

Yet how? I have no words but thoseWhich every one already knows:As, ‘No man hath at any time‘Seen God, but 'tis the love of Him‘Made perfect, and He dwells in us,‘If we each other love.’ Or thus,‘My goodness misseth in extent‘Of Thee, Lord! In the excellent‘I know Thee; and the Saints on Earth‘Make all my love and holy mirth.’And further, ‘Inasmuch as ye‘Did it to one of these, to Me‘Ye did it, though ye nothing thought‘Nor knew of Me, in that ye wrought.’

What shall I dread? Will God undoOur bond, which is all others too?And when I meet you will you sayTo my reclaiming looks, ‘Away!‘A dearer love my bosom warms‘With higher rights and holier charms.‘The children, whom thou here may'st see,‘Neighbours that mingle thee and me,‘And gaily on impartial lyres‘Renounce the foolish filial fires‘They felt, with 'Praise to God on high,‘'Goodwill to all else equally;'

‘The trials, duties, service, tears;‘The many fond, confiding years‘Of nearness sweet with thee apart;‘The joy of body, mind, and heart;‘The love that grew a reckless growth,‘Unmindful that the marriage-oath‘To love in an eternal style‘Meant—only for a little while:‘Sever'd are now those bonds earth-wrought:‘All love, not new, stands here for nought!’

Why, it seems almost wicked, Dear,Even to utter such a fear!Are we not ‘heirs,’ as man and wife,‘Together of eternal life?’Was Paradise e'er meant to fade,To make which marriage first was made?Neither beneath him nor aboveCould man in Eden find his Love;Yet with him in the garden walk'dHis God, and with Him mildly talk'd!Shall the humble preference offendIn heaven, which God did there commend?Are ‘honourable and undefiled’The names of aught from heaven exiled?And are we not forbid to grieveAs without hope? Does God deceive,And call that hope which is despair,Namely, the heaven we should not share?Image and glory of the man,As he of God, is woman. CanThis holy, sweet proportion dieInto a dull equality?Are we not one flesh, yea, so farMore than the babe and mother are,That sons are bid mothers to leaveAnd to their wives alone to cleave, ‘For they two are one flesh?’ But 'tisIn the flesh we rise. Our union is,You know 'tis said, ‘great mystery.’Great mockery, it appears to me;Poor image of the spousal bondOf Christ and Church, if loosed beyondThis life!—'Gainst which, and much more yet,There's not a single word to set.The speech to the scoffing SadduceeIs not in point to you and me;For how could Christ have taught such clodsThat Cæsar's things are also God's?The sort of Wife the Law could makeMight well be ‘hated’ for Love's sake,And left, like money, land, or house;For out of Christ is no true spouse.

I used to think it strange of HimTo make love's after-life so dim,Or only clear by inference:But God trusts much to common sense,And only tells us what, withoutHis Word, we could not have found out.On fleshly tables of the heartHe penn'd truth's feeling counterpartIn hopes that come to all: so, Dear,Trust these, and be of happy cheer,Nor think that he who has loved wellIs of all men most miserable.

There's much more yet I want to say,But cannot now. You know my wayOf feeling strong from Twelve till TwoAfter my wine. I'll write to youDaily some words, which you shall haveTo break the silence of the grave.

VIII From Jane To Frederick

You think, perhaps, ‘Ah, could she knowHow much I loved her!’ Dear, I do!And you may say, ‘Of this new awe‘Of heart which makes her fancies law,‘These watchful duties of despair,‘She does not dream, she cannot care!’Frederick, you see how false that is,Or how could I have written this?And, should it ever cross your mindThat, now and then, you were unkind,You never, never were at all!Remember that! It's naturalFor one like Mr. Vaughan to come,From a morning's useful pastime, home,And greet, with such a courteous zest,His handsome wife, still newly dress'd,As if the Bird of ParadiseShould daily change her plumage thrice.He's always well, she's always gay.Of course! But he who toils all day,And comes home hungry, tired, or cold,And feels 'twould do him good to scoldHis wife a little, let him trustHer love, and say the things he must,Till sooth'd in mind by meat and rest.If, after that, she's well caress'd,And told how good she is, to bearHis humour, fortune makes it fair.Women like men to be like men;That is, at least, just now and then. Thus, I have nothing to forgive,But those first years, (how could I live!)When, though I really did behaveSo stupidly, you never gaveOne unkind word or look at all:As if I was some animalYou pitied! Now, in later life,You used me like a proper Wife.

You feel, Dear, in your present mood,Your Jane, since she was kind and good,A child of God, a living soul,Was not so different, on the whole,From Her who had a little moreOf God's best gifts: but, oh, be sure,My dear, dear Love, to take no blameBecause you could not feel the sameTowards me, living, as when dead.A hungry man must needs think breadSo sweet! and, only at their riseAnd setting, blessings, to the eyes,Like the sun's course, grow visible.If you are sad, remember well,Against delusions of despair,That memory sees things as they were,And not as they were misenjoy'd,And would be still, if ought destroy'dThe glory of their hopelessness:So that, in truth, you had me lessIn days when necessary zealFor my perfection made you feelMy faults the most, than now your loveForgets but where it can approve.You gain by loss, if that seem'd smallPossess'd, which, being gone, turns allSurviving good to vanity.Oh, Fred, this makes it sweet to die!

Say to yourself: ‘'Tis comfort yet‘I made her that which I regret;‘And parting might have come to pass‘In a worse season; as it was,‘Love an eternal temper took,‘Dipp'd, glowing, in Death's icy brook!’Or say, ‘On her poor feeble head‘This might have fallen: 'tis mine instead!‘And so great evil sets me free‘Henceforward from calamity.‘And, in her little children, too,‘How much for her I yet can do!’And grieve not for these orphans even;For central to the love of HeavenIs each child as each star to space.This truth my dying love has graceTo trust with a so sure content,I fear I seem indifferent.

You must not think a child's small heartCold, because it and grief soon part.Fanny will keep them all away,Lest you should hear them laugh and play,Before the funeral's over. ThenI hope you'll be yourself again,And glad, with all your soul, to findHow God thus to the sharpest windSuits the shorn lambs. Instruct them, Dear,For my sake, in His love and fear.And show how, till their journey's done,Not to be weary they must run.

Strive not to dissipate your griefBy any lightness. True reliefOf sorrow is by sorrow brought.And yet for sorrow's sake, you oughtTo grieve with measure. Do not spendSo good a power to no good end! Would you, indeed, have memory stayIn the heart, lock up and put awayRelics and likenesses and allMusings, which waste what they recall.True comfort, and the only thingTo soothe without diminishingA prized regret, is to match here,By a strict life, God's love severe.Yet, after all, by nature's course,Feeling must lose its edge and force.Again you'll reach the desert tractsWhere only sin or duty acts.But, if love always lit our path,Where were the trial of our faith?

Oh, should the mournful honeymoonOf death be over strangely soon,And life-long resolutions, madeIn grievous haste, as quickly fade,Seeming the truth of grief to mock,Think, Dearest, 'tis not by the clockThat sorrow goes! A month of tearsIs more than many, many yearsOf common time. Shun, if you can,However, any passionate plan.Grieve with the heart; let not the headGrieve on, when grief of heart is dead;For all the powers of life defyA superstitious constancy.

The only bond I hold you toIs that which nothing can undo.A man is not a young man twice;And if, of his young years, he liesA faithful score in one wife's breast,She need not mind who has the rest.In this do what you will, dear Love,And feel quite sure that I approve. And, should it chance as it may be,Give her my wedding-ring from me;And never dream that you can errT'wards me by being good to her;Nor let remorseful thoughts destroyIn you the kindly flowering joyAnd pleasure of the natural life.

But don't forget your fond, dead Wife.And, Frederick, should you ever beTempted to think your love of meAll fancy, since it drew its breathSo much more sweetly after death,Remember that I never didA single thing you once forbid;All poor folk liked me; and, at the end,Your Cousin call'd me ‘Dearest Friend!’

And, now, 'twill calm your grief to know,—You, who once loved Honoria so,—There's kindness, that's look'd kindly on,Between her Emily and John.Thus, in your children, you will wed!And John seems so much comforted,(Like Isaac when his mother diedAnd fair Rebekah was his bride),By his new hope, for losing me!So all is happiness, you see.And that reminds me how, last night,I dreamt of heaven, with great delight.A strange, kind Lady watch'd my face,Kiss'd me, and cried, ‘His hope found grace!’She bade me then, in the crystal floor,Look at myself, myself no more;And bright within the mirror shoneHonoria's smile, and yet my own!‘And, when you talk, I hear,’ she sigh'd,‘How much he loved her! Many a bride ‘In heaven such countersemblance wears‘Through what Love deem'd rejected prayers.’She would have spoken still; but, lo,One of a glorious troop, aglowFrom some great work, towards her came,And she so laugh'd, 'twas such a flame,Aaron's twelve jewels seem'd to mixWith the lights of the Seven Candlesticks.

IX From Lady Clitheroe To Mrs. Graham

My dearest Aunt, the Wedding-day,But for Jane's loss, and you away,Was all a Bride from heaven could beg!Skies bluer than the sparrow's egg,And clearer than the cuckoo's call;And such a sun! the flowers allWith double ardour seem'd to blow!The very daisies were a show,Expanded with uncommon pride,Like little pictures of the Bride.

Your Great-Niece and your Grandson werePerfection of a pretty pair.How well Honoria's girls turn out,Although they never go about!Dear me, what trouble and expenseIt took to teach mine confidence!Hers greet mankind as I've heard sayThat wild things do, where beasts of preyWere never known, nor any menHave met their fearless eyes till then. Their grave, inquiring trust to findAll creatures of their simple kindQuite disconcerts bold coxcombry,And makes less perfect candour shy.Ah, Mrs. Graham! people may scoff,But how your home-kept girls go off!How Hymen hastens to unbandThe waist that ne'er felt waltzer's hand!At last I see my Sister's right,And I've told Maud this very night,(But, oh, my daughters have such wills!)To knit, and only dance quadrilles.

You say Fred never writes to youFrankly, as once he used to do,About himself; and you complainHe shared with none his grief for Jane.It all comes of the foolish frightMen feel at the word, hypocrite.Although, when first in love, sometimesThey rave in letters, talk, and rhymes,When once they find, as find they must.How hard 'tis to be hourly justTo those they love, they are dumb for shame,Where we, you see, talk on the same.

Honoria, to whose heart aloneHe seems to open all his own,At times has tears in her kind eyes,After their private colloquies.He's her most favour'd guest, and movesMy spleen by his impartial loves.His pleasure has some inner springDepending not on anything.Petting our Polly, none e'er smiledMore fondly on his favourite child;Yet, playing with his own, it isSomehow as if it were not his. He means to go again to sea,Now that the wedding's over. HeWill leave to Emily and JohnThe little ones to practise on;And Major-domo, Mrs. Rouse,A deal old soul from Wilton House,Will scold the housemaids and the cook,Till Emily has learn'd to lookA little braver than a lambSurprised by dogs without its dam!

Do, dear Aunt, use your influence,And try to teach some plain good senseTo Mary. 'Tis not yet too lateTo make her change her chosen stateOf single silliness. In truth,I fancy that, with fading youth,Her will now wavers. Yesterday,Though, till the Bride was gone away,Joy shone from Mary's loving heart,I found her afterwards apart,Hysterically sobbing. IKnew much too well to ask her why.This marrying of Nieces dauntsThe bravest souls of maiden Aunts.Though Sisters' children often blendSweetly the bonds of child and friend,They are but reeds to rest upon.When Emily comes back with John,Her right to go downstairs beforeAunt Mary will but be the moreObserved if kindly waived, and howShall these be as they were, when nowNiece has her John, and Aunt the senseOf her superior innocence?Somehow, all loves, however fond,Prove lieges of the nuptial bond; And she who dares at this to scoff,Finds all the rest in time drop off;While marriage, like a mushroom-ring,Spreads its sure circle every Spring.

She twice refused George Vane, you know;Yet, when he died three years agoIn the Indian war, she put on gray,And wears no colours to this day.And she it is who charges me,Dear Aunt, with ‘inconsistency!’

X From Frederick To Honoria

Cousin, my thoughts no longer tryTo cast the fashion of the sky.Imagination can extendScarcely in part to comprehendThe sweetness of our common foodAmbrosial, which ingratitudeAnd impious inadvertence waste,Studious to eat but not to taste.And who can tell what's yet in storeThere, but that earthly things have moreOf all that makes their inmost bliss,And life's an image still of this,But haply such a glorious oneAs is the rainbow of the sun?Sweet are your words, but, after allTheir mere reversal may befallThe partners of His glories whoDaily is crucified anew: Splendid privations, martyrdomsTo which no weak remission comes,Perpetual passion for the goodOf them that feel no gratitude,Far circlings, as of planets' fires,Round never-to-be-reach'd desires,Whatever rapturously sighsThat life is love, love sacrifice.All I am sure of heaven is this:Howe'er the mode, I shall not missOne true delight which I have known.Not on the changeful earth aloneShall loyalty remain unmovedT'wards everything I ever loved.So Heaven's voice calls, like Rachel's voiceTo Jacob in the field, ‘Rejoice!‘Serve on some seven more sordid years,‘Too short for weariness or tears;‘Serve on; then, oh, Beloved, well-tried,‘Take me for ever as thy Bride!’

XI From Mary Churchill To The Dean

Charles does me honour, but 'twere vainTo reconsider now again,And so to doubt the clear-shown truthI sought for, and received, when youth,Being fair, and woo'd by one whose loveWas lovely, fail'd my mind to move.God bids them by their own will go,Who ask again the things they know! I grieve for my infirmity,And ignorance of how to beFaithful, at once, to the heavenly life,And the fond duties of a wife.Narrow am I and want the artTo love two things with all my heart.Occupied singly in His search,Who, in the Mysteries of the Church,Returns, and calls them Clouds of Heaven,I tread a road, straight, hard, and even;But fear to wander all confused,By two-fold fealty abused.Either should I the one forget,Or scantly pay the other's debt.

You bid me, Father, count the cost.I have; and all that must be lostI feel as only woman can.To make the heart's wealth of some man,And through the untender world to move,Wrapt safe in his superior love,How sweet! How sweet the household roundOf duties, and their narrow bound,So plain, that to transgress were hard,Yet full of manifest reward!The charities not marr'd, like mine,With chance of thwarting laws divine;The world's regards and just delightIn one that's clearly, kindly right,How sweet! Dear Father, I endure,Not without sharp regret, be sure,To give up such glad certainty,For what, perhaps, may never be.For nothing of my state I know,But that t'ward heaven I seem to go,As one who fondly landward hiesAlong a deck that seaward flies. With every year, meantime, some graceOf earthly happiness gives placeTo humbling ills, the very charmsOf youth being counted, henceforth, harms:To blush already seems absurd;Nor know I whether I should herdWith girls or wives, or sadlier balkMaids' merriment or matrons' talk.

But strait's the gate of life! O'er late,Besides, 'twere now to change my fate:For flowers and fruit of love to form,It must be Spring as well as warm.The world's delight my soul dejects,Revenging all my disrespectsOf old, with incapacityTo chime with even its harmless glee,Which sounds, from fields beyond my range,Like fairies' music, thin and strange.With something like remorse, I grantThe world has beauty which I want;And if, instead of judging it,I at its Council chance to sit,Or at its gay and order'd Feast,My place seems lower than the least.The conscience of the life to beSmites me with inefficiency,And makes me all unfit to blessWith comfortable earthlinessThe rest-desiring brain of man.Finally, then, I fix my planTo dwell with Him that dwells apartIn the highest heaven and lowliest heart;Nor will I, to my utter loss,Look to pluck roses from the Cross.As for the good of human love,'Twere countercheck almost enough To think that one must die beforeThe other; and perhaps 'tis moreIn love's last interest to doNought the least contrary thereto,Than to be blest, and be unjust,Or suffer injustice; as they must,Without a miracle, whose pactCompels to mutual life and act,Whether love shines, or darkness sleepsCold on the spirit's changeful deeps.

Enough if, to my earthly share,Fall gleams that keep me from despair.Happy the things we here discern;More happy those for which we yearn;But measurelessly happy aboveAll else are those we guess not of!

XII From Felix To Honoria

Dearest, my Love and Wife, 'tis longAgo I closed the unfinish'd songWhich never could be finish'd; norWill ever Poet utter moreOf love than I did, watching wellTo lure to speech the unspeakable!‘Why, having won her, do I woo?’ That final strain to the last height flewOf written joy, which wants the smileAnd voice that are, indeed, the whileThey last, the very things you speak,Honoria, who mak'st music weak With ways that say, ‘Shall I not be‘As kind to all as Heaven to me?’And yet, ah, twenty-fold my Bride!Rising, this twentieth festal-tide,You still soft sleeping, on this dayOf days, some words I long to say,Some words superfluously sweetOf fresh assurance, thus to greetYour waking eyes, which never growWeary of telling what I knowSo well, yet only well enoughTo wish for further news thereof.

Here, in this early autumn dawn,By windows opening on the lawn,Where sunshine seems asleep, though bright,And shadows yet are sharp with night,And, further on, the wealthy wheatBends in a golden drowse, how sweetTo sit and cast my careless looksAround my walls of well-read books,Wherein is all that stands redeem'dFrom time's huge wreck, all men have dream'dOf truth, and all by poets knownOf feeling, and in weak sort shown,And, turning to my heart again,To find I have what makes them vain,The thanksgiving mind, which wisdom sums,And you, whereby it freshly comesAs on that morning, (can there beTwenty-two years 'twixt it and me?)When, thrill'd with hopeful love I roseAnd came in haste to Sarum Close,Past many a homestead slumbering whiteIn lonely and pathetic light,Merely to fancy which drawn blindOf thirteen had my Love behind, And in her sacred neighbourhoodTo feel that sweet scorn of all goodBut her, which let the wise forfendWhen wisdom learns to comprehend!

Dearest, as each returning MayI see the season new and gayWith new joy and astonishment,And Nature's infinite ostentOf lovely flowers in wood and mead,That weet not whether any heed,So see I, daily wondering, you,And worship with a passion newThe Heaven that visibly allowsIts grace to go about my house,The partial Heaven, that, though I errAnd mortal am, gave all to herWho gave herself to me. Yet IBoldly thank Heaven, (and so defyThe beggarly soul'd humblenessWhich fears God's bounty to confess,)That I was fashion'd with a mindSeeming for this great gift design'd,So naturally it moved aboveAll sordid contraries of love,Strengthen'd in youth with disciplineOf light, to follow the divineVision, (which ever to the darkIs such a plague as was the arkIn Ashdod, Gath, and Ekron,) stillDiscerning with the docile willWhich comes of full persuaded thought,That intimacy in love is noughtWithout pure reverence, whereas this,In tearfullest banishment, is bliss.

And so, dearest Honoria, IHave never learn'd the weary sigh Of those that to their love-feasts went,Fed, and forgot the Sacrament;And not a trifle now occursBut sweet initiation stirsOf new-discover'd joy, and lendsTo feeling change that never ends;And duties, which the many irk,Are made all wages and no work.

How sing of such things save to her,Love's self, so love's interpreter?How the supreme rewards confessWhich crown the austere voluptuousnessOf heart, that earns, in midst of wealth,The appetite of want and health,Relinquishes the pomp of lifeAnd beauty to the pleasant WifeAt home, and does all joy despiseAs out of place but in her eyes?How praise the years and gravityThat make each favour seem to beA lovelier weakness for her lord?And, ah, how find the tender wordTo tell aright of love that glowsThe fairer for the fading rose?Of frailty which can weight the armTo lean with thrice its girlish charm?Of grace which, like this autumn day,Is not the sad one of decay,Yet one whose pale brow ponderethThe far-off majesty of death?How tell the crowd, whom passion rends,That love grows mild as it ascends?That joy's most high and distant moodIs lost, not found in dancing blood;Albeit kind acts and smiling eyes,And all those fond realities Which are love's words, in us mean moreDelight than twenty years before?

One morning, contrary to law,Which, for the most, we held in awe,Commanding either not to intrudeOn the other's place of solitudeOr solitary mind, for fearOf coming there when God was near,And finding so what should be knownTo Him who is merciful alone,And views the working ferment baseOf waking flesh and sleeping grace,Not as we view, our kindness check'dBy likeness of our own defect,I, venturing to her room, because(Mark the excuse!) my Birthday 'twas,Saw, here across a careless chair,A ball-dress flung, as light as air,And, here, beside a silken couch,Pillows which did the pressure vouchOf pious knees, (sweet piety!Of goodness made and charity,If gay looks told the heart's glad sense,Much rather than of penitence,)And, on the couch, an open book,And written list—I did not look,Yet just in her clear writing caught:—‘Habitual faults of life and thought‘Which most I need deliverance from.’I turn'd aside, and saw her comeAdown the filbert-shaded way,Beautified with her usual gay Hypocrisy of perfectness,Which made her heart, and mine no less,So happy! And she cried to me,‘You lose by breaking rules, you see!‘Your Birthday treat is now half-gone‘Of seeing my new ball-dress on.’And, meeting so my lovely Wife,A passing pang, to think that lifeWas mortal, when I saw her laugh,Shaped in my mind this epitaph:‘Faults had she, child of Adam's stem,‘But only Heaven knew of them.’

Or thus:

For many a dreadful day,In sea-side lodgings sick she lay,Noteless of love, nor seem'd to hearThe sea, on one side, thundering near,Nor, on the other, the loud BallHeld nightly in the public hall;Nor vex'd they my short slumbers, thoughI woke up if she breathed too low.Thus, for three months, with terrors rife,The pending of her precious lifeI watch'd o'er; and the danger, at last,The kind Physician said, was past.Howbeit, for seven harsh weeks the EastBreathed witheringly, and Spring's growth ceased,And so she only did not die;Until the bright and blighting skyChanged into cloud, and the sick flowersRemember'd their perfumes, and showersOf warm, small rain refreshing flewBefore the South, and the Park grew,In three nights, thick with green. Then sheRevived, no less than flower and tree,In the mild air, and, the fourth day, Look'd supernaturally gayWith large, thanksgiving eyes, that shone,The while I tied her bonnet on,So that I led her to the glass,And bade her see how fair she was,And how love visibly could shine.Profuse of hers, desiring mine,And mindful I had loved her mostWhen beauty seem'd a vanish'd boast,She laugh'd. I press'd her then to me,Nothing but soft humility;Nor e'er enhanced she with such charmsHer acquiescence in my arms.And, by her sweet love-weakness madeCourageous, powerful, and glad,In a clear illustration highOf heavenly affection, IPerceived that utter love is allThe same as to be rational,And that the mind and heart of love,Which think they cannot do enough,Are truly the everlasting doorsWherethrough, all unpetition'd, poursThe eternal pleasance. Wherefore weHad innermost tranquillity,And breathed one life with such a senseOf friendship and of confidence,That, recollecting the sure word:‘If two of you are in accord,‘On earth, as touching any boon‘Which ye shall ask, it shall be done‘In heaven,’ we ask'd that heaven's blissMight ne'er be any less than this;And, for that hour, we seem'd to haveThe secret of the joy we gave.

How sing of such things, save to her, Love's self, so love's interpreter?How read from such a homely pageIn the ear of this unhomely age?'Tis now as when the Prophet cried:‘The nation hast Thou multiplied,‘But Thou hast not increased the joy!’And yet, ere wrath or rot destroyOf England's state the ruin fair,Oh, might I so its charm declare,That, in new Lands, in far-off years,Delighted he should cry that hears:‘Great is the Land that somewhat best‘Works, to the wonder of the rest!‘We, in our day, have better done‘This thing or that than any one;‘And who but, still admiring, sees‘How excellent for images‘Was Greece, for laws how wise was Rome;‘But read this Poet, and say if home‘And private love did e'er so smile‘As in that ancient English isle!’

XIII From Lady Clitheroe To Emily Graham

My dearest Niece, I'm charm'd to hearThe scenery's fine at Windermere,And glad a six-weeks' wife defersIn the least to wisdom not yet hers.But, Child, I've no advice to give!Rules only make it hard to live. And where's the good of having beenWell taught from seven to seventeen,If, married, you may not leave off,And say, at last, ‘I'm good enough!’Weeding out folly, still leave some.It gives both lightness and aplomb.We know, however wise by rule,Woman is still by nature fool;And men have sense to like her allThe more when she is natural.'Tis true that, if we choose, we canMock to a miracle the man;But iron in the fire red hot,Though 'tis the heat, the fire 'tis not:And who, for such a feint, would pledgeThe babe's and woman's privilege,No duties and a thousand rights?Besides, defect love's flow incites,As water in a well will runOnly the while 'tis drawn upon.

‘Point de culte sans mystère,’ you say,‘And what if that should die away?’Child, never fear that either couldPull from Saint Cupid's face the hood.The follies natural to eachSurpass the other's moral reach.Just think how men, with sword and gun,Will really fight, and never run;And all in sport: they would have died,For sixpence more, on the other side!A woman's heart must ever warmAt such odd ways: and so we charmBy strangeness which, the more they mark,The more men get into the dark.The marvel, by familiar life,Grows, and attaches to the wife By whom it grows. Thus, silly Girl,To John you'll always be the pearlIn the oyster of the universe;And, though in time he'll treat you worse,He'll love you more, you need not doubt,And never, never find you out!

My Dear, I know that dreadful thoughtThat you've been kinder than you ought.It almost makes you hate him! Yet'Tis wonderful how men forget,And how a merciful ProvidenceDeprives our husbands of all senseOf kindness past, and makes them deemWe always were what now we seem.For their own good we must, you know,However plain the way we go,Still make it strange with stratagem;And instinct tells us that, to them,'Tis always right to bate their price.Yet I must say they're rather nice,And, oh, so easily taken inTo cheat them almost seems a sin!And, Dearest, 'twould be most unfairTo John your feelings to compareWith his, or any man's; for sheWho loves at all loves always; he,Who loves far more, loves yet by fits,And when the wayward wind remitsTo blow, his feelings faint and dropLike forge-flames when the bellows stop.Such things don't trouble you at allWhen once you know they're natural.

My love to John; and, pray, my Dear,Don't let me see you for a year;Unless, indeed, ere then you've learn'dThat Beauties wed are blossoms turn'd To unripe codlings, meant to dwellIn modest shadow hidden well,Till this green stage again permuteTo glow of flowers with good of fruit.I will not have my patience triedBy your absurd new-married pride,That scorns the world's slow-gather'd sense,Ties up the hands of Providence,Rules babes, before there's hope of one,Better than mothers e'er have done,And, for your poor particular,Neglects delights and graces farBeyond your crude and thin conceit.Age has romance almost as sweetAnd much more generous than thisOf yours and John's. With all the blissOf the evenings when you coo'd with him,And upset home for your sole whim,You might have envied, were you wise,The tears within your Mother's eyes,Which, I dare say, you did not see.But let that pass! Yours yet will be,I hope, as happy, kind, and trueAs lives which now seem void to you.Have you not seen shop-painters pasteTheir gold in sheets, then rub to wasteFull half, and, lo, you read the name?Well, Time, my Dear, does much the sameWith this unmeaning glare of love.

But, though you yet may much improve,In marriage, be it still confess'd,There's little merit at the best.Some half-a-dozen lives, indeed,Which else would not have had the need,Get food and nurture, as the priceOf antedated Paradise; But what's that to the varied wantSuccour'd by Mary, your dear Aunt,Who put the bridal crown thrice by,For that of which virginity,So used, has hope? She sends her love,As usual with a proof thereof—Papa's discourse, which you, no doubt,Heard none of, neatly copied outWhilst we were dancing. All are well,Adieu, for there's the Luncheon Bell.

The Wedding Sermon

IThe truths of Love are like the seaFor clearness and for mystery.Of that sweet love which, startling, wakesMaiden and Youth, and mostly breaksThe word of promise to the ear,But keeps it, after many a year,To the full spirit, how shall I speak?My memory with age is weak,And I for hopes do oft suspectThe things I seem to recollect.Yet who but must remember well'Twas this made heaven intelligibleAs motive, though 'twas small the powerThe heart might have, for even an hour,To hold possession of the heightOf nameless pathos and delight!

II In Godhead rise, thither flow backAll loves, which, as they keep or lack,In their return, the course assign'd,Are virtue or sin. Love's every kind,Lofty or low, of spirit or sense,Desire is, or benevolence.He who is fairer, better, higherThan all His works, claims all desire,And in His Poor, His Proxies, asksOur whole benevolence: He tasks,Howbeit, His People by their powers;And if, my Children, you, for hours,Daily, untortur'd in the heart,Can worship, and time's other partGive, without rough recoils of sense,To the claims ingrate of indigence,Happy are you, and fit to beWrought to rare heights of sanctity,For the humble to grow humbler at.But if the flying spirit falls flat,After the modest spell of prayerThat saves the day from sin and care,And the upward eye a void descries,And praises are hypocrisies,And, in the soul, o'erstrain'd for grace,A godless anguish grows apace;Or, if impartial charitySeems, in the act, a sordid lie,Do not infer you cannot pleaseGod, or that He His promisesPostpones, but be content to loveNo more than He accounts enough.Account them poor enough who wantAny good thing which you can grant; And fathom well the depths of lifeIn loves of Husband and of Wife,Child, Mother, Father; simple keysTo what cold faith calls mysteries.

IIIThe love of marriage claims, aboveAll other kinds, the name of love,As perfectest, though not so highAs love which Heaven with single eyeConsiders. Equal and entire,Therein benevolence, desire,Elsewhere ill-join'd or found apart,Become the pulses of one heart,Which now contracts, and now dilates,And, both to the height exalting, matesSelf-seeking to self-sacrifice.Nay, in its subtle paradise(When purest) this one love unitesAll modes of these two opposites,All balanced in accord so richWho may determine which is which?Chiefly God's Love does in it live,And nowhere else so sensitive;For each is all that the other's eye,In the vague vast of Deity,Can comprehend and so containAs still to touch and ne'er to strainThe fragile nerves of joy. And then'Tis such a wise goodwill to menAnd politic economyAs in a prosperous State we see,Where every plot of common landIs yielded to some private handTo fence about and cultivate.Does narrowness its praise abate? Nay, the infinite of man is foundBut in the beating of its bound,And, if a brook its banks o'erpass,'Tis not a sea, but a morass.

IVNo giddiest hope, no wildest guessOf Love's most innocent loftinessHad dared to dream of its own worth,Till Heaven's bold sun-gleam lit the earth.Christ's marriage with the Church is more,My Children, than a metaphor.The heaven of heavens is symbol'd whereThe torch of Psyche flash'd despair.

But here I speak of heights, and heightsAre hardly scaled. The best delightsOf even this homeliest passion, areIn the most perfect souls so rare,That they who feel them are as menSailing the Southern ocean, when,At midnight, they look up, and eyeThe starry Cross, and a strange skyOf brighter stars; and sad thoughts comeTo each how far he is from home.

VLove's inmost nuptial sweetness seeIn the doctrine of virginity!Could lovers, at their dear wish, blend,'Twould kill the bliss which they intend;For joy is love's obedienceAgainst the law of natural sense;And those perpetual yearnings sweetOf lives which dream that they can meetAre given that lovers never mayBe without sacrifice to lay On the high altar of true love,With tears of vestal joy. To moveFrantic, like comets to our bliss,Forgetting that we always miss,And so to seek and fly the sun,By turns, around which love should run,Perverts the ineffable delightOf service guerdon'd with full sightAnd pathos of a hopeless want,To an unreal victory's vaunt,And plaint of an unreal defeat.Yet no less dangerous misconceitMay also be of the virgin will,Whose goal is nuptial blessing still,And whose true being doth subsist,There where the outward forms are miss'd,In those who learn and keep the senseDivine of ‘due benevolence,’Seeking for aye, without alloyOf selfish thought, another's joy,And finding in degrees unknownThat which in act they shunn'd, their own.For all delights of earthly loveAre shadows of the heavens, and moveAs other shadows do; they fleeFrom him that follows them; and heWho flies, for ever finds his feetEmbraced by their pursuings sweet.

VIThen, even in love humane, do INot counsel aspirations high,So much as sweet and regularUse of the good in which we are.As when a man along the waysWalks, and a sudden music plays, His step unchanged, he steps in time,So let your Grace with Nature chime.Her primal forces burst, like straws,The bonds of uncongenial laws.Right life is glad as well as just,And, rooted strong in ‘This I must,’It bears aloft the blossom gayAnd zephyr-toss'd, of ‘This I may;’Whereby the complex heavens rejoiceIn fruits of uncommanded cho

To Kiss Your Lips To Say I Love You

you are in bed waiting for metransparent cloth tempting andyou close your eyes you signalmy body that you are ready forthis old time ritual of sweet sweatsurrender and worship of thedeepest sighs of the marrows.

to kiss your lips, to touch your bodyonce more, to say i love you, all thesei cannot anymore do, i leave no note.i find no justification to explain thisart of leaving, the intricate threadsof goodbye, the feared art of thescissors, cutting and then so clearlythere is no blood, just air moved andhearts skillfully split into two, painlessly.

When Love Calls Your Name

You can cover your eyesAnd hide behind wallsYouve built around youYou can run for your lifeAnytime theres a chance ofSomeone breaking throughBut sooner or later it comes to us allAnd even the strongest must fallChorus:When love calls your nameTheres no saying noYou follow your heart wherever it goesTo the ends of the earthFor the rest of your daysWhatever it takes yeah youll find a wayThrough fire and rainWhen love calls your nameNow I see a lightAnd it keeps getting brighterAnd shows me the wayAnd its there in your eyesPulling me closer everydayAfter all of this timeThe tables have turnedYes, Im finally ready to learnChorusYou do what you mustYou take it on faithYou take it on trustYoure out of controlAnd all that you knowYour worlds not the sameWhen love calls your nameChorusWhen love calls your name

I Love U Mom.......

(this 1 i wrote for a friend of mine when she lost her mom) as the sun hides behind the mountain in the evening.the memories of my mom comes in my mind running.and slowly the tears ro0l down my eyes and touches my lips.how shall i explain now, mom u r d only thing that i miss.

i look at the shooting star n wish to be with my mom.god took her for no reason, isnt that so wrong.whose hand should i hold now, who will sit always next to me.i am so alone withour her, how can GOD not even see.

who will correct my mistakes, who is gonna care for me now.the world is so tough to survive, i will have to fight but how.i know ur blessings are always with me bt i wish u were here to.so that i would pass every challenges n every obstacles that i go through.

i miss the way ur soft hands warmed me everytime u touched.bt wat i miss is the way this mom's gal used to be loved.life is not so easy, i may lose my track.i need u so much right now mom plz come back: (

i would do anything just to see ur one smile.i would climb the highest peak and walk for 1000 mile.i would swim the longest ocean and write 1000's of song.each and every line would just say I LOVE U MY MOM.......

God’s Favor

I did nothing to gain God’s Favor, while living out a life of sin, But, to me He sent The Savior, changing my heart deep within.God changed my life’s behavior, and now my life I give to Him, And though my heart may waver, His Holy Spirit remains within.

For my sins, as dark as night, God had sent for me a sacrifice, God made my sins snowy white, by the blood of Jesus Christ.Moving me from wrong to right, when for me He paid the price, Which lead me into His Light, from my darkness, into New Life.

It wasn’t me who sought the face, of The God in Heaven above, Instead, it was all of Grace, when He poured on me all His Love.It was me, who God embraced; as God I wasn’t even thinking of, Yet my sins God would erase, through Jesus and Calvary’s love.

It was God, who loved me first, for God moved upon my heart, God had saved me at my worst, allowing me a brand new start.While living in a world accursed, He helps me from sin to depart, My course in life God reversed, with His Spirit, now in my heart.

I’ll never know, just how and why, I was favored by God on High, But with His Favor I want to be, God’s witness so that all can see, The Love God showed in His Son, who died for me and everyone, So they can come to the place, where they too, accept His Grace.

The Love That Youve Been Looking For

Lonely, thats not how were meant to beBut looking in your eyes I seeA heart that was abandonedBy a world that used to show you loveYou feel like youre the only oneWhose day begins without the sunYoure left to turn and face it all aloneWell, I know sometimes it seems as ifFate has done you wrongBut if you look inside your heartYoull find the strength to carry onYouve got to leave it all behind youBreak through those lonely chains that bind youcause loves not far away, its gonna find your heart somedayAnd when you feel its warmth surround youYoull realize that love has found youSo turn away your fearscause the love that youve been looking for is hereSuddenly, your broken heart begins to seeA love that lasts eternallyJust look ahead and never ever let a single tear drop from your eyeIt breaks my heart to see you cryThe pain that haunts you every nightBecause of all the emptiness insideWell, I know sometimes it seems as if your heart is caving inBut if we look inside the soul well find the love we have withinI know sometimes when things go wrongYou search for strength carry onBut all we need to take controlIs the love within my soulcause you know that love will find a wayTo reach your heart again somedayYou must believe its trueNow all you have to do Written by nick lachey

I Thought That We Were Still In Love

(liz vidal/tom snow)Last night while we were talking the way that old friends doI suddenly got lost in my yesterdays with youI told you that in my heart you would always be the oneThat Id lie waking in the dark, pray that you will comeBut I didnt mean to say thatSomehow it just slipped outI swear that I would take it backIf I could right nowAll I ask is you believeId forgotten where I wasWith you there so close to meI thought that we were still in loveOh I knew just what Id done when you stood up so fastAnd say the friends that wed become cant hold on to the pastYou said its been a long long time since love came to an endIf I hadnt learned to draw the line, its useless to pretendBut I didnt mean to say thatSomehow it just slipped outI swear that I would take it backIf I could right nowAll I ask is you believeId forgotten where I wasWith you there so close to meI thought that we were still in loveI dont think I could take goodbye, that much is still the truthWont you forgive me just for one night, its what a friend would docoz I didnt mean to say thatSomehow it just slipped outI swear that I would take it backIf I could right nowAll I ask is you believeId forgotten where I wasWith you there so close to meI thought that we were still in loveStill in loveI thought that we were still in love

In God’s Mighty Hand

In light of God’s Truth and Grace, man can find no better place, Than The Hand of Mighty God, Who maintains Love and a Rod; His Rod of Judgment will extend, to a world that is condemned, So indifferent to The Lord above, that they cannot see His love.

The love that men refuse to see, is Hope that sustains humanity, One holds together everything, Christ our Lord and Eternal King, The Blessed Hope of ages past, Hope, that for this age will last, When at the end of this age, God will stop man’s darkened rage.

Today, God’s Hope extends to all, every nation, great and small, Hope, that for believers endured, even as Judgment was poured, On man’s rebellious wickedness, opposing God’s righteousness, A battle for us, today that’s won, through the Love of God’s Son.

The Lord God today waits patiently, for men that have yet to see, The love of Christ, many cherish, so that they too, will not perish, But, come to repentance, in Him, Who, came to save all from sin, And accept from God, eternal life, through His Son, Jesus Christ.

Even as evil powers, today assail, His Righteousness will prevail, The evil, who God, they ignore, will see the wrath, He has in store, While in Jesus Christ I will stand, protected in God’s Mighty Hand, Saved from His wrath by salvation, that will come on every nation.

Love Revolution

This is gettin old babyTime for a real changeTime to turn our whole world aroundcause I been getting restless nowWondering whats up between you and meIs gettin me downWeve been hangin on for far too longSomehow everything went wrongWere in a place we dont belong anymoreYou know that its true babySo Ill see you aroundJust walk away until you can makeA love revolution (love revolution)And come back to meJust do whatever it takesWhatever you need to makeA love revolution (love revolution)For you baby, for me babyI said love, love revolutionI said love, love revolutionHey Im not afraid to changeInside and out babyWith or without you by my sideIts time to scream and shoutLet all these feelings outFind out whats happening insideTake away the borders inside your headAnd youll see other things insteadRealize the life weve led is all over nowYou know that its true babySo Ill see you aroundJust walk away until you can makeA love revolution (love revolution)And come back to meJust do whatever it takesWhatever you need to makeA love revolution (love revolution)For you baby, for me babyI said love, love revolutionI said love, love revolutionIf were gonna turn the world aroundIts time that we get down to itIf were gonna turn the world aroundIts time that we get down to itNow I know that theres another wayAnd Im not waiting one more dayTo make love revolutionFor you baby, for me babyAnd I wanna be aroundWhen your walls come tumbling downIn a love revolutionA love revolutionLove revolution

My Love Story

There is a girl in my life, she's someone so close to my heart.i hold her dear and high, for she brings light to my dark night.

I can remember vividly the first day i met her, i was stunned greatly for she holds the beauty of the sky.her smile was so mild, even nature would blush at sightno wonder all the boy wanted her to be thier's in class.

I manoeuvered my way into her life, and she accepted me with open arms.everyday i sit quiet just to watch her smile, for i was mesmerised greatly by her beauty charm.

As time passed, we became best of friendslife became sweet, for her smile wiped my tears.there is no friend who captured my heart like her, for she's as mild as the stars in the sky.

But shortly after, my friendship begat loveand everything began to change in my life.my heart started beating faster without a stop, my thoughts was clouded by the beauty of her smile.

she's all i think of all day long, sometimes i call her name in my dream.my love for her was so strong, and i loved her even in my sleep.

But my love for her remained a tale, for in her presence i become so lame.not once could i summon courage to tell her how i feel, for those three lovely words were tied on my lips.

Time flew before i realised it, the final exam came and we all made our exits.everything changed before i knew it, for the world changed from how i met it.

My happy moments became a tale, for my cheerful heart had lost its taste.i sit all day long thinking of my past, for all i have left is the memory of her smile.